


That's Not how Kissing it Better Works

by thenerdyindividual



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Hand Jobs, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortality, Jaskier has healing powers, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Up, swamp sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23091574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: A faerie queen has sex with a human. Almost fifty years later Geralt, and Jaskier have sex. This leads to Jaskier learning something rather interesting about his heritage.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 42
Kudos: 1089
Collections: Geralt is Sorry





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Jaskier is immortal now. It's canon.

The grass is slightly damp beneath his back. The moon is high in the sky, its silvery light filtering through the branches of the tree above him. He combs clumsy fingers, always clumsy when he’s with her, through her hair, gently carding through the tangles. At times like this it is easy to forget she isn’t human.

He presses a kiss to her head, and she smiles softly. Then she rises, skin glowing as if made of the moonlight, and lets out a small sigh.

“I will miss you, you know.” she says softly, voice a cacophony of bells.

“I will miss you as well, your majesty.” he responds. 

He always knew their time together would be limited. Her court has never looked kindly on relationships with humans. Now that the time has come to part, however, he feels bereft. He thinks he probably loved her.

She nods her regal head once, a crown and gown appear upon her between one blink and the next, and she glides gracefully into the trees. Then she is gone from his sight.

He lays still for a few more moments, allowing the dew to soak into his bare skin. Then he surges to his feet, and struggles back into his clothes. It does no good to be out in the woods passed dark, and it is a goodly walk back to the village.

*

The queen bestows one last gift upon her son. She can’t leave him with much, or the humans will grow suspicious of his true heritage. But she can give him this, the gift of song. She presses a lingering kiss to his cheek, then draws the blanket safely over his tiny head.

“I will see you again my darling” she promises.

Then his basket is spirited away into the night on the arm of her trusted advisor. She knows she made the right decision, even being the queen could not protect the two of them from their people if they discovered her son was half human. Still, it is difficult to reconcile that choice as her advisor slips through the veil into the human world.

*

It takes Geralt an embarrassingly long time to notice that there is something… not right about Jaskier. In fact he probably would have gone on not noticing for several more years if not for Yennefer’s comment about Jaskier’s crow’s feet.

At the time it did not register that Jaskier should have probably had much more distinct crow’s feet after twenty-two years together, there was a quest to deal with, and then the ensuing arguments. Then there was a brief two year period where Geralt had to travel the continent with Ciri, looking for Yennefer, and Jaskier in hope of apologizing. 

He knew Yennefer would look exactly the same when he found her, and she adored Ciri with her whole hear the second they met. Geralt is happy to have Yennefer care for Ciri when he can’t. 

He did not expect Jaskier to look exactly same. Two years isn’t all that long in a human lifespan, but the war with Nilfgaard made for hard living. He expected Jaskier to have a little more wear and tear. Instead he looks exactly the same as when Geralt saw him on the mountain top two years previous.

There are the barely there crow’s feet that Yen teased him about, but no grey hair. No other wrinkles to be found either. 

It takes Jaskier a solid month to forgive Geralt, and really Geralt can’t blame him. Geralt pays closer attention to Jaskier now that they are back on the road together. He starts noticing other things that are odd beyond his apparent agelessness. For one thing, the way people just seem to topple into Jaskier’s bed with barely any convincing. Granted, if Jaskier offered Geralt would gladly take him up on it, but Geralt _knows Jaskier_. These people listen to one song by him, and suddenly they lose their wits.

There is also the way Jaskier manages to somehow stay entirely injury free no matter the battle. He comes away from a battle with bandits unscathed. Geralt slay a cockatrice, and Jaskier is fine despite seeming to be pecked. In fact the only time Jaskier has ever been injured was the incident with the djinn, and that was mighty powerful magic.

It is all very strange, even for Geralt.

When he asks Yen about it on a visit to Ciri, all she can do is shrug, and say, “He’s partly human.”

*

“Fuck.” Geralt grunts as he drags himself free of the swamp.

The potions have left his system, and without them he can feel every nick, cut, bruise, and strain. 

Jaskier is pacing anxiously along the bank of the swamp, barely avoiding getting sucked in by the muck clinging to his boots. He looks up when he sees Geralt, face splitting into a wide grin, the relief is written in every angle of his body. Geralt can smell the joy on him at fifty paces.

“Geralt. Oh thank the gods. I thought it had you this time. It has been many years since we had such a close call, my friend. Are you alright?”

Geralt just grunts, and makes his way to the nearest tree where he can rest for a moment. Using the potions takes a lot out of him. He could really go for a good hunk of meat. He doesn’t particularly care what kind.

Lines of worry crease Jaskier’s face. His scent changes to one of fear as he rushes to Geralt’s side. Geralt feels Jaskier’s hands on his face, softer, and smaller than his own but not by much. Years on the road have hardened them.

“I’m fine.” Geralt grunts.

“To be clear, is this the you kind of fine where you try to get me to stop fussing? Or are you actually fine?”

Geralt peels open his eyes so he can glare at Jaskier. His eyes are so very blue up close. He’s never met another human with eyes that blue. He wonders, idly, if that is part of what is not right about Jaskier too.

“Mhmm. That’s what I thought. Come on, armor off.” Jaskier instructs.

“I’m covered in swamp muck, and drowner guts.” Geralt protests.

Jaskier rolls his eyes, and starts working at the claps of Geralt’s armor, “As if I’m not used to your rancid smell by now. It will do no one any good if my main source of bardic inspiration dies in a swamp. In just our few years apart I went nearly broke for lack of inspiration.”

He manhandles Geralt out of his armor, and lays it to the side to clean later. Then he peels off Geralt’s shirt to investigate more carefully.

“Jaskier…” Geralt starts to protest, but falls silent at a look from Jaskier.

For all that he’s sore as all hell, and recovering from nearly being drowned, he has escaped with relatively minor injuries. No major slashes that require stitches. Mostly just bruises.

There’s a particularly large, and dark one at his hip bone. Jaskier clicks his tongue at it.

“Fine my ass.” He says eloquently.

“I just need rest.” Geralt insists.

“You need healing, is what you need.”

“Maybe you should just kiss it better.” Geralt snaps, and really he should have known better than to issue anything remotely like a challenge to Jaskier.

“I will.” Jaskier snaps back, and presses his lips to the bruise.

It is far too close to Geralt’s cock for comfort. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt protests, and bats at Jaskier’s head, shoving him away, and temporarily forgetting his own strength.

“Ow,” Jaskier says pointedly, “I’m sorry did I hurt you? I thought you were fine.”

“I am fine.” Geralt grits out, forcing his racing heart to calm. 

Jaskier squints at Geralt suspiciously, and Geralt shifts, suddenly very aware of being hard in his trousers. Unfortunately the motion catches Jaskier’s attention, and that sly grin of his spreads across his face.

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier intones smugly, “Do you want me?” 

“Shut up.”

“Oh my gods,” Jaskier crows with triumph, “You do! You want me. Holy shit. This is the best day of my life.”

Geralt just glares. He won’t give Jaskier the satisfaction of being right.

“It has taken close to thirty years of travelling together, but finally my charm has won over the White Wolf himself.”

“I hate you.”

“Mmm. That’s not what your trousers would have me believe.”

Geralt huffs out a breath, and looks away.

Jaskier settles into a crouch next to Geralt, still grinning, “Go on. How long have I plagued your dreams? How long have you fantasized about us together?”

“Do you want those answers, or do you want to fuck?” Geralt asks, trying to regain his footing in this conversation.

“No.” Jaskier responds cheerfully.

“No?”

“No. I am afraid I don’t want a pity fuck, no matter that bedding a witcher would do wonders for my reputation. Could you imagine the songs I could write? I could start a whole new story about what witchers are like in bed.”

“Pity fuck?” Geralt asks, cutting to the heart of the matter.

Jaskier’s face is suddenly more solemn than Geralt has seen it since the argument on the mountain top, “I don’t want you to fuck me because you just nearly died, and frankly I grow tired of fucking without feeling.”

“ _You_ want romance?”

“I am approaching fifty Geralt, I have had many loves but none as grand as ours. So I would prefer not to alter our relationship unless I can trust you to not leave me on another mountaintop be that metaphorical, or literal.”

“We have a grand love?” Geralt is at a loss.

“Gods. You really are that dense. It isn’t just an act,” Jaskier says, amusement dancing in his eyes, “I love you. It is why I travel with you.”

“I thought you travel with me for the inspiration.”

“Yes well,” Jaskier sniffs, “Love is excellent inspiration is it not?”

Geralt isn’t sure how this conversation ended up where it is. He is left reeling, not a sensation he is used to. Although given the number of tricks destiny has played on him over the last decade he should be more accustomed to it. He does know one thing though.

“I won’t.” he says through gritted teeth.

“Won’t what?” Jaskier asks.

“Leave you on a mountaintop again.”

Jaskier turns to look at him properly for the first time since this conversation took its turn, “Are you telling me you love me?”

Geralt huffs, and rolls his eyes, “Yes.”

Jaskier grins at him again, bright, happy. Then he is on Geralt, lips pressing against his. Geralt is frozen for a moment, head still tumbling through the new emotions settling in deep, and then he relents under Jaskier. 

He reaches up, and cups Jaskier’s cheeks in both hands. Jaskier’s lips are soft, and warm. He tastes vaguely like the stew they had before coming on the hunt, which isn’t exactly pleasant, but it’s Jaskier, and that makes it enjoyable. Besides, Geralt probably tastes like swamp.

Jaskier pulls back for a breath, and Geralt chases after him. He nips at Jaskier’s bottom lip, drawing forth a groan. Jaskier presses their foreheads together, and lets out a chuckle. A soft musical sound. He presses another kiss to Geralt’s lips.

“How long did we pine like a pair of love sick fools?” he asks.

“Knew I wanted you when you left the mountain. Probably wanted you before then.”

“Minimum five years of fucking to make up for.”

Geralt snorts, and drags Jaskier closer so he’s straddling Geralt’s hips. Jaskier sighs into the space between their lips, and fumbles with the laces of Geralt’s trousers. Catching on to the plan, Geralt works the jacket free of Jaskier’s shoulders. 

After several minutes of fumbling with their clothes --which would have gone faster if they had ceased kissing for long than a few seconds, but they both find that they can’t bear to be separated for longer—they finally toss the last item of clothing onto the pile. Jaskier traces the scars on Geralt’s chest, momentarily solemn again.

“One day you will tell me the stories about these that I don’t know.”

“Not tonight.” Geralt says firmly.

“Not tonight.” Jaskier promises, grin returning.

He does something interesting with his hands then, taking Geralt’s cock, and his own cock in one. He kisses Geralt again, and gives their cocks an experimental squeeze. Geralt lets out a sound that could be construed as a moan.

“Thought you wanted to fuck.” Geralt murmurs into Jaskier’s ear.

“While I do love you, Geralt, I am not willing to get our cocks in each other until after you bathe. I am not getting an infection because you wanted to fuck covered in muck,” Jaskier says and sits straighter on Geralt’s hips. He has that look in his eye.

“If you climb off me right now to go scribble that line in your notes, I will feed you to the drowner’s mate.” Geralt threatens.

Jaskier lets out another laugh, and pumps their cocks lazily, “I suppose I can wait.”

Geralt hums in agreement, and nips at Jaskier’s throat. This close he can truly smell Jaskier. Mostly he smells like sweat, and the lavender oil he uses to try to mask the smell of his sweat, but underneath it there is a current of magic. 

Geralt can’t be bothered to care in this moment. Not with Jaskier warm in his lap. The calluses on Jaskier’s hands catch on Geralt’s cock in interesting ways, especially the ones on his fingertips developed from years of playing that damned lute. 

The grass is damp beneath Geralt’s back, but Jaskier is warm. His head rests on Geralt’s chest beneath his chin. Geralt keeps his arm wrapped firmly around Jaskier’s waist, thumbing at the divot between two of Jaskier’s ribs. 

Sleeping in a swamp isn’t ideal. There are too many bugs, supernatural and natural alike, trying to devour their flesh. But Geralt had found his cloak in his discarded pack, and that keeps the worst off of them.

They’ll have to face each other properly again in the morning, but for tonight they can lay here. Geralt buries his nose in Jaskier’s curls, and gets that whiff of magic again. Another problem for morning. For now, he can be soothed by the steady rise, and fall of Jaskier’s chest as he breathes.


	2. Chapter 2

Mist rises from the swamp in the morning sun, little tendrils that curl up towards the sky. Slowly, as if testing to see if the drowner is truly gone, birds begin to chirp. Other animals emerge cautiously from their various hiding places, then slip gratefully away into the swamp.

Geralt buries his face in Jaskier’s curls again, taking one last whiff before they have to go. They’ve already left Roach alone longer than is wise.

“Jaskier.” Geralt grunts, gently shaking Jaskier’s shoulders.

Jaskier groans, and shifts so he can hide his face against Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt chuckles softly, and tries again. He shakes Jaskier a bit more firmly. All it does is a draw a loud whining “No” from Jaskier.

Geralt rolls his eyes, and sits up, dumping Jaskier to the ground in the process. Jaskier bolts up with an indignant yelp, and glares at Geralt.

“I was rather enjoying being asleep.” he says haughtily.

“We have to go.” Geralt responds, and sets about gathering his clothes.

“We have to go,” Jaskier mutters with a shake of his head as he starts gathering his own clothes, “Couldn’t wait a few more moments for a lovely good morning kiss.”

Geralt ignores the muttering, and shakes out the trousers from the night before. He feels amazing, like he would on the rare nights he actually slept deeply, and well despite having only dozed in order to keep an eye on Jaskier. He supposes it is Jaskier’s influence. Something about love, and joy being restorative.

It’s when he’s stepping into his trousers that he notices it. The events of the night before were only kicked off because of a rather large bruise above his hip. The bruise is gone. Stunned, Geralt checks he same spot on his other side, thinking for a moment that he had somehow confused the side the bruise was on. Still no bruise to be found.

“Jaskier.” He says slowly, and when Jaskier turns, Geralt gestures helplessly at his own hip.

Jaskier simply raises an eyebrow at him, “If you think I’m sucking your cock right now after such a rude awakening, you must have been hit in the head harder than we thought.”

“The bruise.”

“What bruise?”

“Exactly.”

Jaskier takes a moment to glance over Geralt’s hip, then shrugs, “I kissed it better.”

“What?”

Jaskier lets out a put upon sigh as if Geralt is the one being deliberately dense, “Do you not know how kissing it better works? You kiss an injury, and it heals.”

“No. It’s something parents tell their children to soothe them.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier says softly as if he’s speaking to a wounded animal, “Have you never been kissed?”

Geralt stares at him flatly, “You have literally walked into my room while I’ve been with a whore.”

“Well yes, but have you never been kissed with actual love?”

“This isn’t how this works.” Geralt snaps.

“Yes it is!” Jaskier says indignantly, hands on his hips. He’d stopped getting dressed in order to have this out with Geralt, and it’s difficult to take Jaskier being tough seriously, especially when he has his shirt balled up in one hand.

“Name one instance.” Geralt demands.

“Right now.” Jaskier says, and then storms off across the swamp in the direction they came from the night before.

“Jaskier!” Geralt shouts, and mutters “shit” under his breath. He scrambles to collect Jaskier’s boots, and jacket, along with his own clothes, and armor. He follows Jaskier at a slower pace, trying to keep the pile of fabric, weapons, and boots balanced. He blames that distraction for the fact he nearly collides with Jaskier’s back.

“Jaskier! What--” he starts, but he notices exactly what Jaskier is staring at. 

Before them, Roach is grazing on the sweet grass that grows at the edge of the swamp, seemingly uncaring about the fact someone had braided flowers into her mane. In front of roach, two creatures are kneeling. Gender is hard to discern on the Fae, always has been, and most of the time they don’t play by the rules when it comes to gender anyway. But it doesn’t take a witcher to know them for what they are; Fae Guards.

Their eyes are a little too dark, and bright. Their teeth when they speak are a little too sharp. One has skin dark like the rich soil flowers grow in, and the other is slightly lighter, closer to the colors of the bark of the trees around them. They don’t make eye contact with Jaskier, but one of them is talking, explaining their presence.

“You mother, our beloved Queen, sent us to find you my prince.”

Jaskier splutters, and shakes his head, “No. I think perhaps you’re getting me confused with someone else. The magic you smell on me is probably from travelling with a witcher.”

At the mention of Geralt, their heads snap up, and they make an unholy hiss in unison. The lighter one pulls their sword. Reacting on instinct, Geralt drops the bundle of clothes, and draws his own sword as well.

Jaskier steps between them before either party can do any harm, “Wait. Stop. It’s alright. He’s not here to do anyone any harm.”

“Witchers kill our kind.” The darker one tells Jaskier, not taking their eyes off Geralt.

“Only when you deliberately hurt people,” Geralt growls, “If they make their own silly contracts that is on them, but when you deliberately snatch people away then it is on me.”

“We haven’t snatched unwilling people away in decades.” The lighter one hisses.

“Then I haven’t killed your kind in as many.” Geralt responds.

Neither party drops their weapons.

Jaskier glances between the two of them, and Geralt can smell the rising panic.

“If I am your prince, then you must listen to me.” Jaskier says, and Geralt is surprised that his voice doesn’t shake with desperation.

“Of course we must, my prince.” The two Fae agree in unison, and if Geralt was one to get spooked the unison would do it.

“Then I order you to put down your sword, my faithful guards. I can guarantee that Geralt means no one in this party any harm unless they try to inflict harm themselves.”

The Fae exchange looks, and then glance between Jaskier, and Geralt. Slowly, they lower their weapons. Geralt does the same. The tension in Jaskier’s shoulders drops slightly.

“Right. In order to get this sorted, you should probably take me to the Queen. She’ll know whether I am her son, or if this was all a misunderstanding.”

“Of course, my prince.” The darker one says, and waves their hand in a complicated motion.

A portal opens. Although it isn’t like the ones Geralt has seen before, the ones that Yen has opened. Instead it is simply like a curtain is being pulled to the side. One second it is sparse trees, and rolling hills, the next it is a world of strange flowers, and stranger people.

“After you, my prince.” The lighter one says.

Jaskier nods his thanks, and steps through. Geralt moves to follow, but the Fae hiss at him.

“Where he goes, I go.” Geralt growls, hand resting menacingly on his sword.

The Fae relent, and let him pass through. They follow Geralt through, and then the curtain drapes shut again. Most of the Fae Geralt has encountered have been like the guards. Easily mistaken for humans. Here, there are more kinds than he ever thought possible. Some have skin as green as grass. Others are so pale, they resemble an animated snowman. At least one has skin a brilliant shade of violet.

The darker Fae guard leads the way, and the lighter of the pair holds up the rear. Eyes follow them as they make their way to the Fae Court. It must not be a common occurrence, a witcher, and a human walking through of their own free will.

They reach the palace, an impossibility of wood, moss, and earth. The throne room is a riot of flowers, and courtiers. When they see Jaskier, they being to mutter amongst themselves. Seems the court is the same in any realm.

At the far end of the throne room is the Queen. There is no mistaking her for anything else. Her hair, and skin are silver like moonlight. Her eyes are a deep indigo like the night sky, and they are shaped suspiciously like Jaskier’s.

When she spots Jaskier, a bright smile spreads across her face, and that smile looks suspiciously like Jaskier’s as well. She leaves her dais, and rushes across the room to greet them. The guards step aside to allow her access to Jaskier, and she draws him close, and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Oh my darling,” she says with a voice like a cacophony of bells, “I can’t believe I found you.”

Jaskier returns the embrace, though with much more awkwardness, “May I ask what I’m doing here?”

The Queen steps back, but still cups Jaskier’s face, admiring him for a moment, “Oh you look so much like your father.”

“I’ve heard that a lot.” Jaskier allows.

“Come. Somewhere more private while I explain.” She says, and begins to draw Jaskier away.

“He’s not going anywhere.” Geralt says, and steps menacingly forward. He won’t lose Jaskier after they finally acknowledged what went unspoken between them.

The guards hiss, and charge forward as well, but The Queen holds up her hand to stop them. She takes a long look at Geralt, as if noticing him for the first time. Then she looks at Jaskier.

“You keep odd company. My son.” She says.

Jaskier shrugs a little, “Surely there are odder bedfellows.”

This draws a laugh from her, and there’s no mistaking the wind in the reeds sound for anything other than Jaskier’s laugh. Well, that certainly explains some things. Even Jaskier seems to be accepting his fate.

“Very well, your friend may accompany us.” She allows, and then announces to the rest of the court, “I wish to spend some time with my long lost son. You are dismissed.”

The courtiers are just gone. The Queen leads them through a series of hallways, clearly designed to confuse any mortal who wanders into them. Geralt hates trusting the fact Jaskier is her son to mean that she will not harm them.

They enter a sitting room, and The Queen draws Jaskier to sit on a sofa like construction of heather. Geralt remains standing. She eyes him out of the corner of her eye.

“Does he always menace in such a way?” she asks Jaskier.

“He is very protective,” Jaskier explains, “My lady, while I believe you believe me to be your son, I admit I am hesitant to agree to it just yet. I mean no offense.”

Gods bless Jaskier’s skills in court.

“I understand. It must come as quite a shock,” The Queen agrees, “Fifty years ago, almost to the day I left behind the human man I had grown interested in. The court was different then, full of dissenters. I could not risk continuing my relationship with him. So we said one last goodbye, and I returned to my kingdom to take my rightful place as queen.

“But I would soon discover I was pregnant. It took much magic to conceal this fact from the court, but I would soon birth a beautiful baby boy. My trusted advisor, now my wife, took that baby with all the blessings I could give, and returned him to his human father.”

“Blessings?” Jaskier asks.

“The ability to charm others, the ability to heal, and music,” She says, and smirks a little when Jaskier shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “I always wanted to find you again, my dandelion, but it was never the right moment.”

“If I may be so bold as to ask, why now?”

“I married my advisor. She gave wise counsel, and kept you secret for me. I love her dearly, but we are expecting a child now as well,” and how is it that Geralt is only just now noticing the swell of her belly, “She grew concerned that you would come to claim your throne, as is your right by birth, and take our child as a causality.”

“So she wanted to kill me?” Jaskier asks, voice gong up in a squeak.

“As your witcher is protective of you, she is protective of her family,” The Queen says sharply, and her indigo eyes flash with something more than perceived danger, “But I knew your father could not raise a man to be cruel. So we agreed to give my most trusted guards sixty human days, and nights to find you.”

“And now that we’re here, what do you intend to do?” Geralt asks, interrupting for the first time since they came to the sitting room.

The Queen gives him an unimpressed glare, “Mind your tongue, witcher. I have half a mind to make you unable to speak while you remain here.”

“My lady,” Jaskier says soothingly, and then makes an odd face, “Mother, he means no insult to you. Trust me, his goading is piss poor. We both just want to know what your plan is.”

“I want you to stay. Your sibling could use someone older, and wiser to help guide them. But you are close enough in age that you won’t feel like a courtier to them.”

“Oh. I…” 

“Don’t answer now. Take a moment to recover from your shock. We have baths drawn, and food plated. Relax,” and when Geralt opens his mouth to warn Jaskier not to do that, The Queen sighs, and rolls her eyes, “You have my word that partaking in these comforts will in no way trap you in my realm. You shall be free to go as you see fit.”

*

Even Geralt admits, albeit begrudgingly, that the baths are lovely. The tubs are made of pink quartz, growing seemingly growing organically from the wood of the castle. The water is the perfect temperature no matter how long they soak. The only downside is Jaskier insisting on washing the drowner guts from Geralt’s hair himself.

The food they are given is even better. The fruit is the sweetest Geralt has ever had, and the meat is tender, and well-seasoned. It is a wonder anyone leaves this place. Still, they can’t bank on The Queen’s affections for long. Jaskier must make a decision, and Geralt has a twisting feeling deep in his gut that Jaskier will choose to stay. It is after all everything he prefers to roughing it with Geralt.

Their clothes appear at the doorway to the bathing chamber, magically cleaned of all mud and guts. They redress, and Geralt takes a second to bury his nose in Jaskier’s curls again. If he’s going to lose him, then he wants one last moment before the hammer falls.

They return to The Queen’s sitting room. Another Fae woman is their now. She looks much like the darker guard that brought them here. 

“My wife.” The Queen introduces, and her smile is soft, Geralt feels an ache in his heart.

The Other Queen steps forward, and shakes Jaskier’s hand as human custom dictates, “I believe you met my sibling’s child. I apologize for any distress they may have caused, they are eager to prove their worth in this role.”

“It is already forgotten.” Jaskier promises.

“Have you made a decision?’ The Queen asks.

“I have,” Jaskier says, and Geralt holds his breath, “I don’t want to stay.”

“What?” all three of them ask in unison.

“I don’t want to stay. I am grateful to have gotten the chance to meet you, Mother. But I do not belong here. No matter that court opinion has changed, I will always be an outcast if I stay. But if I go,” Jaskier grins, and Geralt recognizes his inspiration face, “If I go think of the stories I can tell. I can teach the humans not to live in fear of you any longer, but to always be cautious as you hold great power. I can help improve your reputation.”

“You think your musical ability is that strong?” The Other Queen asks.

“It worked for my witcher. People are no longer afraid of him.”

That is perhaps a slight exaggeration. People are still afraid of Geralt, they just know he won’t come after them as long as he is paid his coin. Though he supposes that is what Jaskier is suggesting here as well.

“I would miss you if you left.” The Queen says, eyes flashing again.

Jaskier pauses, clearly aware he is treading on shaky ground, “Give me a way to contact you.”

“Explain.” The Queen says.

“I’ll come to visit at least twice a year,” Jaskier promises, “If you give me a way to contact you, then I may come, and go as I please. I can’t stay, but I don’t have to leave entirely.”

The Queen nods, and rises from the heather. She plucks something out of thin air, and presses it into Jaskier’s hand. It is a pink quartz key, on an impossibly thin gold chain.

“When you want to visit, just place that key into the lock on a door, and when it opens you shall be here in this room. Do the same when you want to return to the human world.”

Jaskier drapes the chain around his neck, and presses a kiss to The Queen’s cheek, “Thank you, Mother. I will see you soon. I promise.”

He sticks the key into the lock on the door to the sitting room, and when he opens it, he and Geralt are standing next to Roach. Despite spending nearly a full day in the Fae realm, only couple of hours have passed in the human world.

They collect their things from the ground in silence, and mount Roach. As they ride off, Geralt chuckles a little.

“I told you that people can’t kiss things better.”

Jaskier gets back at him by aggressively composing his next ballad about a long lost Fae Prince as they ride.

**Author's Note:**

> Come Visit me on tumblr for more Witcher! https://thenerdyindividual.tumblr.com/


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